


half.

by lavieradieuse



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Tronnor, i like ambiguous characters so you kind of get to choose who this is about, troyler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavieradieuse/pseuds/lavieradieuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"i wish i loved myself half as much as i loved you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	half.

**Author's Note:**

> read this in russian [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3809237/9936132)!

it’s funny how fast time passes. the moments that he keeps deep in his heart, when it aches from longing and weight so horrible and beautiful and painful and he doesn’t know how or what to make it better--those are the moments he’s surprised at, because they feel like so long ago while feeling like five minutes ago and he’s confused. it’s an organic feeling, but that pain--it’s so real and honest and raw and he’s scared of it beyond expression and he’s never been good at talking, but he’s always been good at singing, at writing lyrics that weave melodies that paint stories of his thoughts, his dreams, and his wishes.

it’s a talent he knew he had as a child, but he never really expected it to mean anything. he doesn’t know how to say ‘i love you,’ but he knows how to play ‘i care for you’ on the piano, strum ‘i cherish you’ on the ukulele, sing ‘i need you’ through the C scales, nod his head to the complicated rhythm of ‘i would spend every waking hour with you,’ deepen the bass to ‘i want you,’ and orchestrate a cacophony of intricacies that to him mean ‘i trust you with my life.’ 

it’s funny that his work (he still is astounded by the fact that he gets to call it work) can mean so many different things to so many different people, but that to him it means his love and his mind and his heart, his godforsaken heart that wants to feel but that his mind says a loud and resounding ‘no’ to. he’s scared. it’s a strange thought to have the opportunity to finally say what he wants how he wants, but that the world can also be privy to those barreling trains of wonder and fear and life. 

he’s in love. he knew when after so many days spent together, he still wanted more. he found himself wishing for more hours in the day just so he could say that he wanted to spend longer than 24 hours, than all the hours in his lifetime with someone he was lucky enough to call his best friend. it’s mind-blowing, really. had he not posted that video so many years ago, or that tweet, or gone to that convention at that specific time, or reciprocated the 3am skype calls, or flew halfway across the world under the impression that he was going to work on his album, or stolen _his_ clothes, or danced with _him_ under the dimmed kitchen lights, or signed with this label, or decided that he wanted to get over his stage fright: he wouldn’t be here. they wouldn't be here. it’s a scary thought, because he’s truly never experienced the constant ache in his chest before, threatening to bubble into his eyes in the form of quiet tears, threatening to make every word he wrote in every lyric one of love and lust and desire and hope and want, threatening to remind him of _his_ fingers, _his_ calves, _his_ smile lines, _his_ eyebrows, _his_ lips, _his_ collarbones, _his_ light touches, _his_ passionate kisses, _his_ words, _his_ thoughts, _his_ presence. 

he’s not sure how he got here, but he knows he’d rather think about _him_ always, eternally, endlessly. he doesn’t want the dark thoughts. he doesn’t want to remember the fear of living alone, of being alone, or never ever finding someone he trusts because he’s always been so afraid of speaking his mind. he’s afraid of rejection. he’s afraid he feels more than him and that his thoughts are too much and that he’ll scare _him_ off and so he envelopes himself and his feelings in this cocoon of self doubt and self hatred and terror of vulnerability. he’s vulnerable, but he’s good at hiding it. he jokes about his insecurities, about how much he hates his skinny body, but he relishes in the moments he compliments him because _goddamn_ is it incredible to have someone care about you. he’s unsure if his feelings are too much and that his missing him is too much and that he’s reading into this too much and that he’ll never love himself as much as he says he loves him and that terrifies him because he wants to love himself, wants to be the person he’s always secretly wanted to be but it’s so hard and he’s so in love that he can’t imagine ever leaving him and the thought of having to fend for his own again, in a dark, dark world scares him, feels like spiders running in his bones. 

and it’s been months since, well, _them_ happened, but it feels like years and seconds at the same time. it’s been so long but it feels too short, like he wants more of this constant familiarity and closeness because all the time in the universe could not ever be enough for his need, his want, his desire, his love. and this love is so encompassing that he’s scared he’ll never be free of it, though he never wants to be free of it. he’s scared that he’ll never live his life because all he wants is _him_ and that’s all he’s ever wanted, he realizes, but it scares him because most of the time--who is he kidding--all of the time, he wishes he could take care of _him_ and ignore his own self and he knows that’s stupid and too much but he can’t stop thinking it. he just wants _him_ to be happy. and it’s the most terrifying thing in the world because he’s never and will never love himself as much as he loves _him_. he wants _his_ happiness before his own, and he wants _his_ life more than his own. 

and he thinks, maybe this is love. maybe, just maybe, he’ll someday love himself as much as he loves _him_ , but for now, he’s reminded of the fact that maybe, just maybe, _he_ feels the same about him and that _he_ cares and loves just as much as he does, and maybe, just maybe, that’s comfort enough.


End file.
